I up the pace of my steps because if she’s in need, I’m the man for the job.
“I’m a mess,” she says, her cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they always do when I’m within ten feet of her.
Am I the reason she blushes?
Does this gorgeous, accomplished, smart-as-a-whip woman have it as bad for me as I do for her?
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, and I fucking mean it.
I don’t care that she looks like she just washed ashore on a deserted island.
She’s gorgeous.
She points at the glass doors of the lobby. “Mrs. Fields had to leave for an appointment. Lester went to look for an umbrella, but Mrs. Fields insisted on going out in the rain because her ride was waiting. It took her a minute to get into the car, so I stood there helping her. The damn driver didn’t even get out to lend a hand… and well, this happened.”
This.
I assume she’s referring to her sensual, slightly wet look.
“You look amazing.”
Her brows bunch together. “I’m a soaked mess.”
I glance over her shoulder to see Jurgen parking my car next to the curb. A quick look at my watch confirms the time.
It’s twenty minutes to nine.
Calliope steals a peek behind her. “Dammit. I don’t have time to clean up. I have to go to work looking like this.”
My opportunity to give her what she needs falls directly into my lap.
“Head up to your apartment.” I smile. “Jurgen will drive me to work, then circle back to get you.”
“Decky will be mad if I’m late. I can’t risk my job over something like this.”
The effortless way she calls my brother by his nickname warms my heart.
I laugh. “I’ll handle him. Take your time. No rush.”
Relief floods her expression. “Do you mean it?”
“I mean it.”
She inches up on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. “You really are a saint.”
I’m a sinner, but she’s not aware of that quite yet.
Before I let her race to the elevator, I catch her forearm in my hand to hold her in place.
My gaze drops to the front of her blouse and the unmistakable outline of her pert little nipples under her bra.
When I look at her face again, the blush on her cheeks has darkened.
“I won’t be riding home with you after work.” I stare into her brilliant blue eyes. “I will be at your door at eight to take you to dinner, Calliope.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “Eight for our date.”
I lean forward so my breath skirts over the skin of her neck. “I’ll be counting every fucking minute until then.”
“Me too.” Her voice comes out ragged and edged with the same need that is brewing inside of me.
Loosening my grip on her, I kiss her forehead. “Have a good day, Champ.”
Her eyes trail up my body to my face. “You too, Saint.”
I’m at it again.
Fishing in unchartered waters.
I’ve plugged Calliope’s name into Google in every manner that I can think of.
Calliope Morrow.
Callie Morrow.
Callie from Tin Anchor.
I even spent the better part of an hour perusing every fucking hashtag that has anything to do with that bar she works at.
I was hoping to land a big catch in the form of a clue about her life.
When I saw her this morning, looking both sexy-as-fuck, and vulnerable-as-hell in the lobby, I had a sudden urge to protect her.
I know that whatever happened in her last relationship scarred her, so I want any scrap of information that will tell me more about that and who the hell the idiot was that let her slip out of his grasp.
I look up from my computer screen when I hear Decky clearing his throat.
“Knock,” I tell him. “Just goddamn knock if you want to talk to me.”
His hand glides down the front of his neck. “Not everything is about you, Saint. I took a bite of a bagel that got caught between here and there.”
“Do you need me to do the Heimlich?”
A bark of laughter follows a cough. “I’m fine. The last time you tried to administer first aid, you broke one of my ribs.”
“I was twelve,” I point out. “I hadn’t gotten first aid training yet.”
He takes a full step into my office. “And you have now?”
I tap the corner of my laptop screen. “I’ve watched a few videos. I’m confident I can save you without breaking anything.”
“I’ll pass.” His arms cross over his chest. “Do you want to meet up tonight? There’s a new restaurant opening in Tribeca. I scored a couple of invites to their soft launch.”
“I can’t,” I say directly. “I’m taking Calliope out for dinner.”
His brow furrows. “Really?”
“Really,” I echo. “I like her.”
It’s an admission I didn’t have to make, but I know my brother. He’ll probe and prod until I tell him how I feel about my neighbor. Tossing him a crumb will satisfy him for now.